


alone is the last place you will ever be

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, No Spoilers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 21:51:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18290939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: Best friend, this is what we do.





	alone is the last place you will ever be

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Angelgazing. She knows why.

Best friend, this is what we do.   
We gather each other up.   
We say, the cup is half   
yours and half mine.   
We say alone is the last place you will ever be.   
\--"Angels of the Get Through," Andrea Gibson

Steve's never been good with words, not in the ways that really matter. Bucky'd always been the one with the silver tongue, able to talk his way out of any trouble Steve had punched them into. It's just one of the things Bucky's slowly getting back after everything. 

Sure, Steve can rally the troops with the best of them, can plan an assault or stonewall a reporter or even tell a tiny child to eat her vegetables so she'll get big and strong like him, but when it comes to saying important things to the people in his life, he inevitably gets tongue-tied and bashful. 

Sam and Natasha have both worked with him on it over the years, and he has played big brother to Wanda and Shuri with ease while their brothers were gone, but he still trips over his own words when it comes to Bucky.

Bucky, who was everything even when he had nothing. Bucky, who was lost and found and lost and found, and Steve still can't do more than smile the biggest, goofiest smile ever and say, "He's my best friend, he's my Bucky," when he gets to introduce him to people. The words—best friend, boyfriend, comrade-in-arms—seem so small, too small to encompass what Bucky means to him.

Bucky knows, though. At least, Steve thinks— _hopes_ —he does. Steve shows him in the language that comes most naturally to him: the friendly shoulder-bump or arm-punch of their childhood, the nonchalant arm thrown across the shoulders in the aftermath of some back alley brawl or wartime mission, the proud shoulder-squeeze or comforting press of forehead to forehead that had to express all the love and care Steve could never put into words, and before he had access to the wider variety of touches that came later, when their relationship changed again.

Now, Steve can use his mouth for more interesting things, his tongue no longer tripping him up as he licks into Bucky's mouth. His kisses draw wordless, breathless sounds from Bucky's throat, and Steve has no trouble interpreting them and repeating them back fervently. _Yes_ and _please_ and _more_ , the most heartfelt declaration of love in the press of his lips to Bucky's lips, the scrape of his teeth against Bucky's jaw, the grind of his hips, thrusting down when Bucky arches up, generating heat and seeking friction.

"Wait, wait," Steve murmurs against the fluttering pulse at the base of Bucky's neck. "Patience."

"Fuck you," Bucky replies, his voice low and hoarse.

"I'm trying," Steve says with a breathless laugh, ghosting his lips over Bucky's sternum, using one hand to thumb a small, peaked nipple, and the other to press Bucky's hip to the mattress when he tries to arch up off the bed.

Bucky groans and Steve chooses to believe it's because of what he's doing, not the words he's said. He scoots down the bed, licking and nipping at the firm muscles of Bucky's abs, following the line of dark hair down to his cock, which is hard and hot and beaded with pre-come.

Steve licks his lips in anticipation, but chooses to bask in it a little longer by nuzzling at the crease where Bucky's thigh joins his body and pressing soft kisses on the warm, silky skin of Bucky's inner thigh.

Bucky groans again, and his hand lands in Steve's hair, short nails scritching against his scalp, sending a shiver down his spine. (Steve doesn't mind Bucky's metal arm—he likes it a lot, in fact—but while he also doesn't mind having his hair pulled while he's going down, they learned the hard way that he doesn't like the way the seams between the plates rip out his hair.)

"Patience," Steve murmurs again, earning a yank on his hair and a breathless huff that's as fond as it is impatient. He wraps his hand around the shaft and gives Bucky's cock a firm stroke. Bucky pushes up into his hand and Steve leans in to press a kiss to the tip before sealing his lips around the head. This is how he says _I love you_ and _I'm so glad you're back_ and _don't ever leave me again_. This is just one of many ways he says, _you are not alone_ and _till the end of the line_ and all the other vows he's made but rarely spoken out loud.

Before they'd started having sex, Steve would have said he'd known everything there was to know about Bucky, but he's since made a whole curriculum out of learning what Bucky likes in bed, what will make him writhe and gasp the way he does now, as Steve bobs his head, taking Bucky as deep as he can before sliding back up. He'd been surprised at how much he himself enjoyed this—the salt-bitter taste on his tongue, the heavy weight in his mouth, the mess of spit and spunk when Bucky comes, growling low in his throat. 

Steve swallows it down, licking his lips to catch the overflow, before pressing his face to Bucky's belly, breathing in the smell of sex and sweat. His own cock is hard and aching, but he ignores it for a moment to catch his breath. 

There are nights he wakes up screaming, afraid that their victory over Thanos was the dream and reality was still a nightmare, and the scent and taste and _feel_ of Bucky's body beneath him or beside him or inside him is the only thing that grounds him, makes him believe the battle's won. He'd never had any of that before, and his imagination's not that vivid. So he takes these moments before and after and during to impress everything on his stupid perfect memory, trying to overwrite the losses and the nightmares with this new reality.

Bucky's hand is gentle against his scalp now, sliding down to squeeze the nape of his neck. _I got you_ the gesture says, even as he asks, "Okay there, pal?"

"Yeah," Steve replies, sliding himself back up the bed to press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to Bucky's lips. "I am, as long as you're here."

"Sap," Bucky grumbles, but his arms are wrapped around Steve in a way that always means, _me, too._

If Steve's most natural language is touch, he knows it's because he learned so much of it from Bucky.

end


End file.
